Page 31 of Pursuing Lord Pascal
Even as secretly he squirmed, he shot her a straight look. It was hell being in thrall to a clever woman. “I’m not quite up to three figures.”
Something that might have been jealousy flashed in her eyes. That pleased him, even as he wondered what the deuce would convince her that she was unique in his existence. “Mind you, I have high hopes that a certain widow from Leicestershire will bring my total up.”
Her lips flattened, and her tone turned arid. “You’ll have to work a little harder, then.”
This discussion had been dashed uncomfortable, partly because she was right about his laziness, much as he didn’t want to admit it. Now amusement won out over hurt pride.
“There’s my schoolmistress again.” To his regret, the waltz ended. Pascal held onto her until the last possible second. This damned vexatious courtship offered few enough opportunitiesto touch her. “It seems my arithmetic may need improvement after all.”
Without shifting from his grasp, Amy narrowed her eyes on him. “It does, if you want one and one to make two, my lord.”
* * *
Amy sat beside Pascal as his curricle negotiated the narrow country lanes. On this cloudy, but dry day, they were well into Surrey. They’d passed through Epsom half an hour ago. “This seems a long way to go for a picnic, my lord.”
He didn’t shift his attention from the horses, but the corners of the firm mouth deepened, as if her remark aroused some secret amusement. “I’m very fussy about where I eat.”
They’d left London before ten, and he’d told Sally that they’d be back late. Amy might suspect some nefarious purpose—she hadn’t missed his increasing frustration with her rules—if a groom hadn’t accompanied them.
Usually when they went driving, Pascal left the boy at Sally’s. This adherence to propriety hinted that something unusual lay ahead.
Amy just wished she knew what the devil it was.
They hit a deep hole among all the other ruts, and she clutched his arm for balance. Then she made herself let go, much as she’d rather cling to him.
This decorous courtship tested her patience, too, and several times she’d wondered if she pushed him too far, and he’d look elsewhere for a mistress. But she had to give him credit. For more than two weeks, he’d been the perfect suitor.
“Are you still there, George?” Pascal asked, checking with the boy at the rear of the carriage.
“Aye, your lordship,” the young groom said breathlessly. “These roads are a bit rum.”
“They are indeed, my lad.”
Amy had already noticed Pascal’s easy manner with George. She liked that he wasn’t highhanded with his servants. The problem was that she liked far too much about Gervaise Dacre, Earl Pascal. Her resistance grew ever more threadbare, yet she still wasn’t sure she wanted to risk an affair.
It was an effort to maintain her sardonic tone. “You should have told me you planned dinner rather than luncheon, and I’d have had an extra sausage for breakfast.”
This time he did look at her, the blue eyes suspiciously innocent. “If there’s one thing our delightful acquaintance has taught me, Lady Mowbray, it’s that patience is a virtue.”
She gritted her teeth, as the curricle turned between two stone gateposts and bowled along a drive considerably smoother than the roads they’d taken to get here. “Where are we?”
A beautiful park extended on either side, with artfully placed follies and bridges. In the distance, she saw a lake, with just beyond, a magnificent Portland stone country house, built in last century’s style.
“Didn’t I say we were visiting a friend of mine? I’m sure I did.”
Dear heaven, he could be irritating. “I’m sure you didn’t.”
“Oh, well, we’re here now.” With a flourish, he pulled up on the circular drive in front of the impressive double staircase. As a groom darted out to hold the horses, a familiar figure emerged from the house and ran down the steps with a vigor belied by his sixty-odd years.
“Welcome, welcome, Pascal and Lady Mowbray.” Sir Godfrey Yelland smiled broadly and strode toward the curricle, where Pascal had leaped down and now helped Amy to descend. “My lady, I’ve been so looking forward to showing you my herd and hearing your opinions on my methods to increase milk yield. Ever since we danced together at the Bartletts’, I’ve been thinking of what you said about changing my stock feed.”
“Sir Godfrey.” Goodness gracious, he wasn’t who she’d expected to see.
“Yelland, so kind of you to allow us to visit,” Pascal said.
“Not at all. Not at all. Was glad you asked to come. Privilege to have the famous Lady Mowbray here. I’m sure you’re famished after the drive from London. I thought we’d have a meal, while I describe some of my experiments. Then we can spend the afternoon outside. The weather looks like it will hold.”
“That sounds…that sounds delightful,” she stammered, releasing Pascal’s hand. “Although my expertise is in beef cattle, not dairying.”
